


Fire is Life

by DKNC



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-23
Updated: 2014-01-23
Packaged: 2018-01-09 17:44:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,002
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1148978
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DKNC/pseuds/DKNC
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A few short moons after Ned's return from the Greyjoy Rebellion and Arya's birth, Catelyn is more than pleased to have her husband back in her bed until she witnesses things which cause her to question the trust they've so painstakingly built.</p><p>Written for the prompt "fire" in the Ships of Ice and Fire Challenge.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Fire is Life

The first time it happened, it shocked her. Ned had slept in her bed most nights since the time she carried Sansa save when he was away from Winterfell visiting bannermen or fighting Greyjoys for Robert Baratheon. Yet, in all those nights, he had never done this before. While she had no cause to doubt his desire for her nor the pleasure he derived from taking her, he was ever solicitous of her comfort. He would take her before they slept at night, and not infrequently again in the mornings, but only after she awakened on her own.

This night, she had been awakened in the dark hours of the night by the awareness of his hands upon her and his breath hot upon her neck. “Ned?” she’d whispered, unsure of what was happening.

He’d made a strangled sound and pressed his lips hard against hers, kissing her with an urgency that made her gasp for breath. The hand which had been on her breast moved between her legs and his other arm went round her waist pulling her tightly against him. She could feel that his cock was hard against her and she gasped once more.

He didn’t hurt her. Nor did he force her. While he didn’t speak at all, much less ask her permission to lie with her as was his usual custom, the work of his mouth and his hands had her as desirous of coupling as he was in an alarmingly short time. His hungry kisses on her face, her earlobes, her neck, her breasts put her in mind of the direwolf on his sigil--a ravenous beast which would surely devour her--but she found herself wishing to be devoured. When he rose above her to sink himself deep inside her, he made a sound like a growl, and her body convulsed beneath him, nearly peaking in her pleasure immediately. He thrust into her with more abandon than she’d ever known from him, but she met each thrust, and when he spent himself in what seemed like no time at all, she toppled over the edge with him.

He collapsed onto her, and for a brief time, there was no sound in the dark room except their labored breathing. Very quickly, however, he rolled off her, and instead of pulling him beside her as she was used to him to doing, he moved completely away from her.

“Forgive me, my lady. That was ill done,” he said gruffly, and she heard bitter regret in his voice rather than tenderness.

“Ned?” she said hesitantly. “I am your wife. You have done nothing wrong.”

“I’ve no right to use so,” he said through gritted teeth. “Did I hurt you?” The last was spoken more softly, and she knew him well enough to detect the guilt and shame in his words.

“No, my lord,” she assured him hurriedly. “I am unhurt.” She reached out to touch him, but felt him stiffen and pulled her hand back. “But I am concerned about you. Are you well, my love?”

He sat up suddenly. “I am fine, Catelyn!” he nearly shouted. “But I am ashamed to have so little control of myself. I will go to my chambers, my lady.”

“No!” She could hear the note of panic in her voice and was certain he did, too. She sat up herself, and put her hand on his shoulder. He stiffened slightly, but then relaxed a bit and did not pull away. “I would have you stay, my lord. I have no fire, and I am cold without you.”

He turned to look at her, although neither of them could see much in the dark. She heard the smile creep into his voice, though. “I cannot imagine anyone being cold in this room, my lady.”

“I won’t be if you are here,” she said, coaxing him to lie back down.

He sighed heavily and lay down, allowing her to curl beside him as she normally did. “I would never have you think that I do not respect you, Cat. That I would use you as a common . . .You are my wife.”

She kissed him softly. “I am your wife,” she told him. “And you were gone from me for far too long. And a fortnight after your return, I birthed Arya. She’s only three months old, Ned. It has not been long since Maester Luwin has allowed . . .” She was grateful the darkness hid her blush as she let her words trail off. “I am pleased to know my husband still desires me.”

“Never doubt that,” he said, running a hand through her hair.

They were both silent then, as sleep reached out to claim them, but just before she drifted off, she thought she heard him mutter, “I was gone too long.” She thought to ask him what he meant, but instead just fell asleep with her head resting gently on his chest.

Three nights later, the weather turned bitterly cold for all that everyone said spring was imminent. Catelyn felt the chill even in her warm chambers, and ordered a fire laid as she prepared for bed. She was sitting close to the hearth rather than at her dressing table, brushing out her hair when Ned came to her rooms. He stood there, simply looking at her for a moment.

“You are lovely, my lady,” he said. He came forward and took the brush from her, running it through her hair as she leaned her head back to him. “I do not know if your hair reflects the light of the fire or the fire reflects the light of your hair.”

She laughed at him. “Well, wherever the light is from, I know which gives off heat,” she said, holding her hands out toward the hearth to warm them.

“So do I,” he said, huskily, laying aside the brush to run his hands through her hair. He bent to kiss her then, and there was no further conversation.

They fell asleep, exhausted and satisfied, with Catelyn laughing at Ned trying to hold her close and yet remove every bit of covering from himself, and Ned threatening to open the windows if the fire didn’t die soon.

She awakened in the middle of the night to the sound of him moaning and became aware of him thrashing about a bit beside her. Alarmed, she sat up to look down at him. He had suffered terrible nightmares for a long time after Robert’s Rebellion which had terrified her when he first began to spend entire nights in her bed. She’d learned to simply hold him and whisper comforting things to him rather than try to wake him. She wondered if he would now dream of Pyke.

As her eyes adjusted, she could see his face fairly well in the dying light of the fire. As he moaned again, she was startled to realize that he was not making sounds of fear, but pleasure, and that she knew the expression on his face quite well. She became aware of his arm moving beside her and looked down to see his hand moving along his stiff cock. “Yes,” he muttered. “Yes, please.” His eyes were tightly shut, and she knew he was not awake.

She swallowed hard, wondering what he dreamed. If he dreamed of Pyke, it was certainly no battle that filled his mind.

“Gods!” he cried out, and then muttered something of which she could only make out the words “too long”.

 _I was gone too long,_ she remembered him saying the other night when he’d been so guilty and regretful after waking to bed her so urgently. Now, she found herself wondering if he’d been dreaming then, and if he had, what woman he had held in those dreams.

“Ned!” she said, shaking him slightly. “Ned, wake up!” she said more loudly, moving almost atop him to shake him then.

His eyes flew open, at first looking unfocused and confused. Then he blinked at her, “Cat?” he said hazily. He seemed to realize then where his hand was, and he hastily removed it from his cock. “Cat,” he said, swallowing and looking at her nakedness over him. “I . . .” He reached his hand hesitantly up to cup her breast.

 _Wherever he was a moment ago, he is here with me now,_ she thought fiercely. _He is mine._

With a certain possessive zeal she threw her leg over her husband to straddle him there and pressed her lips to his. He hesitated not at all in returning the kiss, raking both hands up and down her back as she ground her hips into him in a circular motion. He was more than ready, she knew, and whether it was more anger or desire, she found herself soon ready as well. She sat up and took him in her hand which provoked a sharp intake of breath on his part. She guided him into her and then moved up and down upon him quickly , one hand bracing herself on his chest and the other rubbing furiously at the sensitive little nub of tissue just in front of where he was buried inside her.

He grabbed her hips tightly, pulling her down onto him with even more force, and he watched her intently as she shattered, throwing her head back as she contracted around him. He followed her immediately, and she was gratified to hear him cry out her name as he came.

When she fell forward onto him, he kept his arms loosely around her, making lazy circles on her back with his fingers and playing with her hair. He did not tense up or pull away from her this time.

“That was . . .remarkable, my lady,” he said after a moment.

She bit her lip, wondering what she could ask him. Once, in a moment not too unlike this, she had lain in his arms and asked softly about the identity of his bastard’s mother. His anger had stunned her, and for the only time in their marriage, Catelyn had honestly feared he might strike her. He did not, of course. He never would. She knew that now. But the anger had been real enough. So had the coldness which had followed it--a coldness far more bitter than that of the northern winter that was now ending. She had no wish to go there again. Yet, she wondered. And the wondering ate at her even in the midst of the physical contentment she felt after bedding her husband.

“Well . . .” she said carefully. “You appeared to be dreaming, my lord. I sought to wake you and then I . . .” She bit her lip. “You are not angry with me for interrupting your dream?”

He chuckled then, low in his throat, before pressing a kiss to the top of your head. “You may wake me from any dream you choose, my love, if that is your manner of waking me.”

Emboldened by his laughter and his tenderness, she teasingly ran her finger along his chest. “So, my lord . . .what were you dreaming exactly?”

Now, he stiffened, and even in the dim and dying firelight, she saw the guilt flash in his eyes. “I do not recall,” he said gruffly. “Nothing of consequence. We should sleep, Cat.” He lifted her gently off him, but kept an arm around her as he laid her beside him.

 _You are a terrible liar, Ned._ Even curled against him, she no longer felt warm.

She tried not to think upon it over the next several days. He was as warm to her as ever. He doted on the children--marveling at little Arya’s almost daily changes; delighting sweet Sansa by swinging her around in the air as if dancing, calling her his little lady, and sneaking her lemoncakes when Catelyn told her no; and forever playing the dragon or White Walker for Robb and the bastard to batter with their wooden swords. She’d always loved watching him with the children, in spite of Jon Snow’s constant presence, but now she felt a new pain when she watched her husband with the son who was not hers. _Was it his mother Ned_ _dreamed about at night?_ She pushed the thought away. _Ashara Dayne._ The name came unbidden to her mind, and she pushed that away as well. Mayhaps, it had nothing to do with the bastard. _I was gone too long._ The words haunted her. _Had he been so long without a woman as he warred against the Greyjoys that he’d taken a new one during this rebellion as well?_

“Stop it, Catelyn Tully,” she admonished herself out loud. _He is my husband, and that is all I need to know._ He still came to her bed every night, and she did not doubt that he took pleasure in it. And it was always her name on his lips. _I have his name, I_ _have his trueborn children, his title, and his castle. I should not demand to have his dreams as well._ She told herself these things repeatedly, but if she were honest with herself, she knew that the sting of not knowing the woman he loved in his sleep was as sharp as not knowing the name of his bastard’s mother. Perhaps even sharper. She could convince herself on most days that she had replaced the bastard’s mother in his heart, but she could hardly pretend that Ned did not want this dream woman, whether it be that same woman or another. She had seen the evidence clearly enough for herself.

He did not again awaken her in the middle of the night for nearly a fortnight. She was sleeping against him when she heard him clearly say, “Fire.” Thinking he was too warm, she yawned and started to rise and go to the hearth before remembering they had not made a fire that night. The room had been quite comfortable without one. She looked toward him. The moon was nearly full now, and its light shone through the window onto his face making it look as if it were carved of marble or ice. He was turned toward her, and he frowned slightly, although his eyes were closed. “I want . .” he mumbled. “Oh gods, don’t go.”

She lay there watching him as he obviously yearned for someone. One of his hands actually moved as if to reach for someone. “I need . . .” He began breathing more heavily, and she bit back tears as she watched his dream go from yearning to arousal. “Fire,” he whispered and then moved his fingers in front of him and made a soft noise of pleasure.

She couldn’t take it anymore. “Wake up, Ned,” she said. He continued to mumble, now almost smiling in his sleep. She sat up and hit him in the chest. “For the gods’ sake, wake up!”

“What? Huh?” he startled, actually sitting straight up as his eyes came open. He breathed rather heavily for a moment, looking around the room before looking down to see her lying next to him.

“You were dreaming.” She knew it sounded like an accusation rather than a simple statement.

“I . . .” He looked away guiltily. “I am sorry for waking you.”

She sat up then, too, but did not look at him or offer to touch him. He must have sensed her distress because he reached out to touch her then, but she pulled away. “Was she in a fire?” she asked, not looking up. “Is that what happened?”

“Catelyn?” he asked, sounding both concerned and confused by her words.

“Is she beautiful?” she choked out. “Or was she?”

When he made no response, she did turn to look at him to find her staring at her as if she had lost her senses. “The woman you dream of!” she spat at him. “I will not ask you who she is, my lord. I know better than that. But I have watched you dream, and I think she must be beautiful.” She hated the tears that stung her eyes, but she forced herself not to look away. _I am your wife. I have no need to lower my eyes before you._

His eyes seemed to widen slowly in the moonlight as he came to understand what she was asking him. A certain softness came to his stern features as he replied softly. “Yes. She is very beautiful.”

She had not truly expected him to answer, and she tried to keep breathing in spite of the fact that she felt her heart being ripped from her chest. “Do . . .do you . . .love her, my lord?” she asked in a very small voice, hating herself for asking the question, but unable to stop the words now.

He looked at her for what seemed a long time before replying, “I fear she does not know how much.”

At that, she did drop her eyes from his regardless of her determination not to. She could not face him now. She couldn’t.

She felt his hand beneath her chin then, and he gently lifted her face back to look at him. “I dream of you, Cat. Always of you. Only of you.”

The words stunned her. Yet, she was looking at his face and saw the sincerity there. Ned was a terrible liar, and she saw no trace of a lie now. Her tears began to fall in earnest, grief and anger giving way to a relief too sweet to believe.

 _It is too sweet to believe._ “But you lied to me,” she protested. “You said you didn’t recall your dreams. And you said you’d been gone too long. And you looked so guilty and ashamed!” The words fell more quickly from her lips as she went on.

“Oh, my love,” he said. “If I had known that you thought . . .” He looked down then, seeming to take a moment to gather himself before continuing to speak. When he looked back up he reached out to place his hands on her arms. “Catelyn,” he said almost formally. “I was gone too long to the Iron Isles. I . . .missed you, my lady. I missed you with a longing I would not have believed possible. I honestly feared it might consume me.” He swallowed. “I had nothing but my dreams of you, my lady,” he whispered hoarsely, “And I would give myself to them. I . . .such things I imagined, Cat . . .I could not . . .I should not speak of such things with you. I would not shame you, my love.”

“Shame me?” she asked him. “How can a man shame his lady wife by desiring only her rather than other women? I would think that is the opposite of shame, my love.”

He swallowed hard, and Catelyn had the distinct impression that if a Stark could actually blush, her husband’s face would be as bright red as hers ever was. “My dreams were . . .vivid,” he said hesitantly. “You are a lady, Catelyn. You are not . . .”

“I am not made of stone,” she interrupted him. “And I am capable of my own vivid dreams, my lord. Do you think I did not long for you in your absence?”

He looked taken aback by her statement, and she actually laughed, feeling incredibly lighthearted that she could do so again. “Have I not shown you how much I want you, my lord?"

He smiled ruefully at her then. “Most certainly, my lady. But still I would never presume to call upon you to enact the scenes my shameful mind concocted when I was so long without you.” He shook his head slightly. “I thought the dreams would cease once I had you near me again, Cat. But I fear having you has only made me want you more.”

He moved his hands then, trailing them lightly up and down her arms, and she shivered slightly, wishing she had the courage to ask him what she had done for him in dreams that he feared she would consider shameful. Before she could attempt it, though, he was kissing her. It started softly, their lips barely brushing each other’s, but it built with a slow intensity until her lips parted to allow his tongue to slide against hers and his lips pressed against hers so that she knew hers would be swollen and puffy when they were finished. Their arms wound around each other, and she felt his fist close on her hair, pulling her head back as he moved his mouth to the now exposed expanse of the front of her neck. By the time his lips and tongue had moved to her nipples, she was panting his name and begging him to do whatever he liked as long as he didn’t stop.

He didn’t stop. Neither did she. By the time they were both sated and lying exhausted against each other in her bed, she thought it possible that neither of them would be able to move again. She’d lost count of how many times she’d heard her husband say her name. He’d whispered it, growled it, groaned it, and finally cried it out loud as he’d filled her once more with his seed. Whether he’d spoken it so often intentionally or not, he’d left her in no doubt about the identity of the woman he wanted.

As she lay with her head pillowed on his chest listening to the steady thrum of his heart, something occurred to her, though. “Fire,” she said suddenly. “Twice, at least, in your dream you spoke of fire.”

She felt his chest rumble beneath her with his almost silent laugh. “I imagine I did,” he said, running his fingers through her thoroughly tangled hair. “Do you have any idea what this does to me, Cat?” he said, pulling a bunch of it around in front of her face. “I don’t think I’ve ever been as cold in my life as I was on that bloody campaign. No campfire could warm me because every fire I see becomes your hair in my mind, and thinking of you when you were so far away left me colder than before. You are what is required to warm me, my love. Nothing else will do, I’m afraid.”

He kissed the top of her head, pressing his lips into that tangled auburn mass. “I’ve told you how the wildlings would call you kissed by fire. But they have it wrong. You are fire, Cat. You are all the light and heat that I need, and when I was gone too long from you, I found the world a dark and cold place.”

She swallowed the lump in her throat and raised her head to smile at him, realizing slowly that her solemn, taciturn husband had actually told her more than once this night that he loved her. _I fear she does not know how much,_ she heard again in her mind. “Gods willing you shall never be too long without me again, my love.” Then she allowed her smile to become a more teasing grin. “But I thought Northmen do not fear the cold, my lord. They live all their lives in it, after all.”

He smiled widely, one of his rare beautiful full smiles that lit his eyes and made his face anything but frozen, and her heart fluttered just to see it. “Northmen do not fear the cold, my lady, but we respect it. In the North, we know fire means life, and I have found fire to last all my life.”

Catelyn looked into the grey eyes of her husband and put her hand to his cheek, noting the few scattered grey whiskers already making an appearance among the dark brown of his beard. There was nothing fiery in his looks, no riotous colors to be found like in her hair. Yet, under that grey gaze, she felt herself warming and knew that with scarcely a touch from him she would ignite into blazing heat. “So have I,” she whispered back. “All the fire I need.”


End file.
